Face Yard

 Yard book

The yard bears much resemblance to Facebook. There are crows, I know they are up there, I hear them, but they never come into the tall pines in the yard. Why? Could it be for the chickens, always cackling, block him! Block him! There are various butterfly’s, they are beautiful, but crazy acting, never alighting long enough then flying off. There are cats, they like this one, not that one, they want in, just as quickly, want out. There is a blind dog. Long as mamma is near, he is content. Her scent enough. There is this one man who thinks he can administer it all. He approves what should be deleted, deletes what needs approving. 

But hey, it’s his yard, so he thinks. 

Let him think.

That way we don’t have to.

Look back

 Look back

John Clare Stokes

Lately I’ve been contemplating 

The things that keep me looking back

That cause me to go away sadly

It’s not the riches of the young ruler

But the treasures of pride 

The folly of lusts

The askance look

That keeps one turning back

Again and again

Just one more glance

We do pray for deliverance

To not grow hardened as the publican

Saying

I’m thankful I’m not as others

As that sinner

When inward we are Gadarenes in chains.

Long Distant Voyager

 Amended

Long Distance Voyager 

John Clare Stokes

Long as he could recall he observed

Seeing most of it all

Knew what went on in the

Saturday night Sand Hill spots

When in those Nova’s the gears

burned, spinning stuck in sand

Before there were towers erected

To ping the location

The only tower on the hill pulsating distant 

Dangling strands of last years Christmas bulbs

A beacon pointing eastward toward home

And more often than not 

You struck out in a fast trot

To flag down some Gulf Hammock

bound peanut farmer 

Intent upon the dogs in the box chasing whitetails 

But taking the time to yank you free

And the voyager knew where you were stuck

That secret place out past Devils Den

Where no Sheriff Hartley car was patrolling 

To the pious Valerie’s lining Noble

you were pure they were sure

Rescued from the perishing ones 

Washed from the Red Devil blood

Sitting upright in Gertrude Fletchers 

Sunday School room

Crossed arms together 

Holding hands so Preacher couldn’t see and an intent congregation 

Trying to keep time with the

Metered hand of Doyle Crosby and

Vera playing Send the light

But you were stuck upon a distant chord from

Lead singing halfback Jackie and the

Woman’s Club band

That other certain kind of light

Emanating from the far sand hills

A spook light if you will

And the voyager knew you had

seen that ghostly light

Even if you never walked an aisle

It shown in your smile

As Wesley and family nudged you

Back toward the narrow way

The arms uncrossed for a moment

Almost raising to count the cost

But to those pulsating sand hill firefly’s 

The Boones Farm form of communion wine you drank 

Your stainless ID steady bracelet rattling gently 

Upon her delicate wrist

The cheerleaders blushing red lips kissed

With that Gulf Hammock deer in the cross sights look

Oblivious they were to the Seaboard crossing lights flashing 

But the long distant voyager saw it all coming. 

Tabor

 Mt Tabor Methodist Episcopal

Constituted in 1854. Services were first held in a log building, a half mile east of the location on Cline Feagle Road, until a white, rectangular, meeting-hall type, frame building was erected in 1870. The first services were held in 1872, remodeled in 1915 and 1938 with a membership of 32. The first pastor was Rev John L Jerry from 1854-1855, later JT Adams with the final pastor being PJ Wagner in 1939-. The church burned to the ground around 1988 in December.

Bob and bridge

 Another one with the late Bob Jones on the Suwannacoochee bridge.

What happens

 What happens to children...when small see beauty...and then...bugs and things become ugly...in morning glories...splendor is occuring....the eternal story....in no manner revolting.

Long Distance Voyager

 Long Distance Voyager 

John Clare Stokes

Long as he could recall he observed

Seeing most of it all

Knew what went on in the

Saturday night Sand Hill spots

When in those Nova’s the gears

burned, spinning stuck in sand

Before there were towers erected

To ping the location

The only tower on the hill pulsating distant 

Dangling strands of last years Christmas bulbs

A beacon pointing eastward home

And more often than not 

You struck out in a trot

To flag down some Gulf Hammock

bound peanut farmer 

Intent upon the dogs and deer chasing

But taking the time to yank you free

And the voyager knew where you stuck

That secret place out past Devils Den

Where no Sheriff Hartley car was patrolling 

To the pious Valerie’s lining Noble

you were pure they were sure

Rescued from the perishing son

Washed in Red Devil blood

Sitting upright in Gertrude Fletchers 

Sunday School room

Crossed arms

Holding hands so Preacher couldn’t see and an intent congregation 

Not at all keeping time with the

Metered hand of Doyle Crosby and

Vera playing Send the light

But stuck upon a distant chord from

Lead singer halfback Jackie and the

Woman’s Club band

That other certain kind of light

Emanating from the far sand hills

A spook light if you will

And the voyager knew you had

Seen that ghostly light

Even if you never walked an aisle

It shown in your smile

As Wesley and family nudged you

Back toward the narrow way

The arms uncrossed for a moment

Almost raising to count the cost

But to those pulsating sand hill firefly’s 

The Boones Farm form of communion wine

Your stainless ID steady bracelet rattling gently 

Upon her delicate wrist

The cheerleader blushing red lips kissed

The Gulf Hammock deer in the cross sights look

And he never saw the Seaboard lights flashing 

But the long distant voyager did.

The little prodigal

 The prodigal son 

John Clare Stokes

The cedar tree i climbed to run away 

 Looking down on the kitchen window  

Watching mamma baking oatmeal cookies 

 The aroma rising visibly above me 

 now looms tall over my memory  

The sticky boughs fully obscuring  

 a little run away prodigal son 

 Determined to live in a Cedar tree.  

Mamma cooled the batch on the sill 

 As far above the prodigal groaned 

 In the evening air a hungry chill 

 Oh for the oatmeal cookies of home!

The once comfortable cedar limb  

Pricked and panged upon the boy 

 As slowly he began to descend 

  Determined come morning...

to run away then.

Roscoe

 International Dog Day

Itchetucknee ai

 Which do you like? Ai not bad.

In dreams

 In dreams

John Clare Stokes

In dreams the blacks and whites

Of life take on swirling gusts

Of violet hues touched with

Glimmering golds...

In dreams the void and empty

Fills to overflowing in streams gurgling

Forth ultramarine and pure in a

Silvery sparkled flow...

In dreams the stark and sterile

Confines open to lush lands of

Verde grasses reaching

Infinite into secrets untold...

In dreams the parched and cracked

Ooze a rich raw umber as

Verona sprouts fill around our

Wiggled toes...

In dreams the lost and forgotten are

Led by a cadmium bright that

Winds high on cheer-thronged 

Avenues...

In dreams the dead and dying 

Are led from a caput mortuum deep

To a life forever painted anew

As awake in prismatic hues we dwell.

For Shirley Zecher and all the lovers of the colors of watery light

AI

 It just doesn’t know the people. So they don’t look as they did. But still…

Al

 Al can be good or terrible. I asked it to put me in the scene by the Sopchoppy swimming hole. It was great except the head looks nothing like me.

I asked it to place the lady Elsie Hall in front of the store. It was from a fuzzy photo of her, and since I didn’t know her, it looked good. It even changed the pumps to older versions. 

The silliest was my daddy and Laurice Robert’s and his dog who I asked to put in front of his station. Even though I had a photo it switched heights on daddy, making him taller than Mr Robert’s who towered over him. 

Days after

 Days after

Today is another one of those days after

When we’ve completed our reflecting

Faintly expecting the return of the son

This one the day after his thirtieth birthday

But why should we expect it

All the days once celebrated are now

Days after, weeks after, years after

We quit long ago counting

The days after

Lonely

In the morning expectation

awaiting the prodigal coming

You would settle in the interim 

For something to come along

A hummingbird 

A crow

A dragonfly 

A Cardinal

Anything

Lately there is such a dearth

Of something coming

It’s a lonely place.

Moon tipping two

 Mornings 

We’d take our red jet

And go out 

Moon tipping

Upset so

his setting

Moon tipping

 But those in the

Blue plane

We tried to explain

The art of

Moon tipping

They didn’t get it

And flew on past

Quite fast

I may add

Stoked life

 Stoked life 

I see my Stokes ones

and I only want to warn them

if they knew the stoked life

as I 

and the temptation 

and other such hurdles

confronting the

stoked life

they’d be well served

to stay in their 

Orander wear. 

First kill

 First Kill

Johnclarestokes 

I proudly shot daddy's Purple Martin that day

Not knowing they kept mosquitos at bay.

Mamma told me, Quickly! Go bury the bird!

And to your father not breath a word.

I dug a hasty grave behind the shed

Then hid the Red Rider under the bed.

Each evening I looked in fear as Martins flew

That somehow daddy counted and knew.

Such the guilt on a little boys brain

That a tiny bird could cause such strain.

Years passed, the Martin houses rotted and fell

Now I'm old, but bless mamma, she never did tell!

The first kill haunts us through our days

Till at last, Martins keep mosquitos at bay

Above our graves.

Mashes Sands

Wish we could always reign in

Mashes Sands

Johnclarestokes 

I do not know how the sand 

came from Mashes Sands 

to my sand pile in Sopchoppy

But my father got it there

And it was my kingdom  

My perimeter I only left

whenever I would swing

and jump past the pure sandy 

Border 

Flying about up into the evening

Til I heard mamma calling me in

And I would park the fleet

Open the sluice gates

Post the real plastic army men

With strictest orders

To guard the Mashes Sands

Kingdom in the county

Wakulla

The township

Sopchoppy

the state Florida

Ruled by the kindly

Tow head king,Jumpy.  

Drogue drift

 Drogue Drift

Johnclarestokes 

You could call it the bitter end 

of the rope

the point beyond where the fire

fused the strands

the unraveled part that did not

go through the ring

In the taunt the line turns astern

in a vertical load the lift

as the sea claw is freed

then a straight yaw as the

drift begins 

Into the beam sea they go with

memories of mooring

Above the laughing terns

mock the folly

In cabin crafts they ply on

in dead reckoning 

Paying the price of anchors rejecting.

Gentle man

 Gentle Man 

John Clare Stokes  

  My the splash you made upon the shore  

Nearly drowning us in your under tow  

Losing the glasses just bought from the store 

 Leaving us spinning  in surf to and fro.  

You were born for greater shores than these 

 We imagined you as a Tsunami wave 

 Raging to a boil from Oriental seas 

 Lifeguards frantic the many to save. 

 Instead you came gently to the shore 

 For not all waves are born to kill 

 A playful push to the ocean floor  

Came so far just our joy to fill. 

 Thirty-six years hence we stand 

 And as a new wave roaring comes 

 We brace and clutch our glasses in hand 

 My how you splashed our gentle man.

Landon Randolph Stokes

August 25, 1988

Ride Dino

 Ride Dino

Johnclarestokes 

In the land before time of man

The dinosaurs roamed the land

Creatures larger than imagination 

Primordial acts of Gods creation 

Our little son rode his plastic dino 

T Rex tamed by a young Lando 

At night the stories were read

Of lands where giants tread

A wallpaper was finally found

Now the creatures did surround 

Years passed and so the theme

Dino deflated with the dream

The dinosaurs were covered in brown

With deer and bears all around

Later, Danny and Gator glory

Then Tebow's inspiring story

Next came Kelly and the ocean blue

Surfboards galore of every hue

Finally to shades of modern gray

No hero found to guide the way

The little hawk with wings had flown

We paused to recall the Dino song

Yesterday, the gray border tore

Revealing faint tracks gone before

We chose not to repair the Dino print

The priceless uncovering of a lost moment

Ride Dino! Ride Dino! Happy song of the boy!

The layers of a life peeling back to reveal the joy! 

Landon Randolph Stokes with his son Nathaniel  Manoa

August 25, 1988

Cheap date

 When Melanie and I were dating, we went to the Okeefenokee. I was too cheap to rent a boat and motor and she never let me forget it. After we were married, I wanted to make amends for my cheap ways. I made certain when we returned to Okeefenokee that we rented a boat!

Focus the bokeh

The lady who recently

Took first place at the

West Library in photography 

Came into the Gallery

With her family

She told them there was a setting

On her camera

That makes things out of focus

But she didn’t know how to

Set it

And he who did not win 

At the West Library 

Said not a word to Mary. 

Chat

 I asked chat to make the photo look like a painting.

Mayo

 The C Edwin Turlington residence of Mayo

Built in 1904

Moved to the Veterans Park in the mid 80's.

Darkly

 Though I see through a glass barely....I am learning to follow the light...yellow line upon the left...white line on the right...at a snails pace.

The minds eye sees

 Some through water

On 129

Nearing Santa Fe 

Canon S100

One need not disdain photos fuzzy

The minds eye sees it sharply.

The kiss of light

 The kiss of light 

Lotus 

Nikon D3100

Alligator Lake

Steps in time

 Steps in time

The old back porch steps leading to the kitchen addition of the old 1900 Towles house we once dwelt in at Crawfordville. When Louis Gavin the ex slave built the home for John and Lucille Towles, it was a four square, with a dog trot down the middle and two equally sized rooms on either side. Mrs Lucille lived in the home long after John passed on, herself going blind. In the halls and over the thresholds her cane paths were worn. The back room to the right, before the kitchen addition years later, was her kitchen, the tall tongue in grove narrow boards black with soot from her little wood burning stove. A miracle she never burned the home down. 

The house fortunately still exists today in Sopchoppy, repurposed over the years next to the depot having several businesses occupy it. My two sons, Landon and Jordon, the Tallahassee Democrats my father read, the pickled pigs feet he ate.

Coral Clare

You can identify the poisonous ones by the shape of the head, or the color combination.